Whilst I still have a load or two of laundry to do, no one has hassled me or given me grief or yelled at me about using the machines today.
If this is not pure, unadulterated bliss, well, I do not know what is. Were I able to move with comfort, I would be happy-dancing all over the place, but really quiet, like a mouse. Wee, tiny, little happy-dancing mice. I would dance with them. My peeps.
Ah, whatever happens for the other half of this day, I can survive it relatively unscathed because this early part is worth appreciating, seeking out and bringing on the dancing and very blissful little guys with the naked tails.
To leap, to soar, without a care
Is a blessing of the rarest kind.
Through the air and in my soul,
One to be held in heart and mind
For times less peaceful,
Times less calm and quiet and gay,
When struggles are met
With the strength gathered today
It is life's dance, at least mine
To experience as best I am able.
And gather the soft remembrances
For future times unstable.
Dance, baby, whilst you can.